Give me one more, lover, I said, chin raised, face hot, whole body shuddering.
The next one knocked me out.
When she saw me on the gurney in the emergency room, her eyes widened. It was the first time I’d ever seen the whites of her eyes. Her jaw was trembling so slightly, like a violin string. So slight only I would notice. Because I’d never seen it any way but granite-still.
I’m sorry, I said. Feeling the gluey rush of the morphine. I’m sorry.
She almost placed one gloved hand on mine. It hovered there. She was showing me something, but just barely.
I told you about tails, she said. About where you walk and when. What about the snub nose?
They got me coming out of the car, I murmured. I don’t know where they came from. They came from nowhere.
The nurse made me lean back. She talked about my contusions, my crushed cheekbone, the concussion.
I’m sorry, I repeated. You have to know. It will never happen again.
All right, she said, I’ll take care of it. And reached down to the sheet that hung off the edge of the gurney. She lifted it with her gloved fingers, pulled it up my chest. I could hear her breathing, hear her thinking. How am I going to play this with the big boys. That’s what she was thinking. How’m I going to save my girl.
Somebody played that dough, she said as she smoked a long, black cigarette. All on one horse. Someone knew all about you.
But that was it. She never said another word about it.
You get one, I said to myself. That was your one.
As for him, he didn’t pay off the shylocks. Instead, the next day, he bet it all on Gilded Lily in the fifth and lost it down to his last nickel. I came home, he’d pawned my mink hat, my platina fox coat, the longest string of pearls you ever saw. When I squawked, he jammed his fingers into my sunken cheekbone, knocked me down on the carpet and gave me one last farewell fuck that rubbed my back raw—all before skipping town for good.
Never again, I told myself, body torn to pieces. Here on out, I only bend for her. I only got ears for Mama.
Part of me wanted to come clean with her. But I kept my mouth shut. Rule number one.
That night, I dreamt of things happening to me, to her. Of faceless men in black cars running me down, of long blades and hinges of skin, of shotguns in my face and the smell of my own flesh against the radiator.
The next day, she phoned. She said, You can’t make any runs until your face heals and you stop looking like a two-dollar whore. She told me she would have new jobs for me in a week or two. Until then, I’d have to lay low. But I’d been through a lot and she’d come over that night and take me out. She said not to worry. She’d taken care of things.
She came over at nine p.m., dressed head to toe in sharky silver. I brought you something, she said, lifting the garment bag in her hand. You can wear this tonight.
I asked her if there’d been any fallout from the bets that weren’t placed. I’d heard from Jerome at Club Tee Hee that Upstairs wasn’t happy paying off a higher return rate to bookies whose bets they’d covered as place and show. They weren’t happy. And they were looking into things.
She looked at me and shook her head. It’s just a twist in a long seam, darling. Don’t worry your black and blue head over it.
And I let myself feel relieved. And she could tell. You don’t give me enough credit, baby, she said. You’re my girl. I took care of it.
Her garnet lips curled, slanted, something, something like a smile. The closest to a smile she came. I smiled back.
Now let’s go celebrate, she said. Toast your recovery. Let’s paint the town.
I said okay. I said I’d love to. I was hers. Mama.
We’re going to dress you to kill, she said. You gotta show ’em you’re not down for the count.
She unzipped the garment bag in one long stroke and the shimmering red dress gushed out. With your fox, she said. It’s meant to go with the platina fox.
The fox was hanging in the window of Abie’s Pawn Shop, but maybe I was starting to feel like I could get around it. I was starting to feel like things were going to hang straight. Something like relief.
The dress was shimmering, inviting me in. I slid out of my robe and I felt her hand touch my still-raw back as I stepped in. The neckline hung low, weighted down with heavy beading like scales against my chest. We walked over to the long mirror in the corner of the room. She stood behind me, six inches taller, that crown of titian hair and those narrow eyes.
This was me once, she said, as if to herself, as we looked in the mirror, her silver gloves laced across my collar bones. I guess I’m a thousand years old to you, I’ve seen it all. But look. We’re the same, We’re the same. I made you. Sometimes it’s as if I made you up inside my head.
I didn’t say anything. I watched the red panels splash against the silver of her suit. I didn’t know what to say. My teeth somehow were clattering. I looked in her eyes, the lashy slits. Were those my eyes? Would they be? Those eyes, they knew everything. Everything.
I felt like we would be locked like this forever, pressed against each other, front to back, she with one sharp stiletto jutting between my stocking feet. The red dress tight across my breasts, my hips, her hands splayed across my throat. I should have seen it coming. I never was that bright.
She knew everything. Everything.
I hope he was worth it, she said, teeth glittering. Was he worth it.
Her arm came forward and I saw the straight razor in her gloved hand. She held it to one side of my throat. A curtain of blood fell.
We hope you enjoyed reading this Simon & Schuster eBook.
Sign up for our newsletter and receive special offers, access to bonus content, and info on the latest new releases and other great eBooks from Simon & Schuster.
or visit us online to sign up at
eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com
Simon & Schuster
Rockefeller Center 1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
www.SimonandSchuster.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2007 by Megan Abbott
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.
First Simon & Schuster paperback edition 2007
Simon & Schuster and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
Designed by Suet Chong
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Abbot, Megan E.
Queenpin: a novel/Megan Abbott.—1st Simon & Schuster pbk. ed.
p. cm.
1. Organized crime—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3601.B37Q44 2007
813.'6—dc22
ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-3428-0 (print)
ISBN: 978-1-4165-4599-6 (eBook)
ISBN-10: 1-4165-3428-8
“Policy” originally appeared in Damn Near Dead: An Anthology of Geezer Noir, edited by Duane Swierczynski, Busted Flush Press, 2007.
Megan Abbott, Queenpin
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends